Now a little more presentable, Alex stepped out of the bathroom, a faint trail of steam lingering in the air behind him. He hesitated for a moment, then moved toward the door, knocking lightly. "I'm ready," he called, his voice still hoarse.
The door unlocked immediately, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. The guard stood there, impassive as ever, but Troy was right behind him, waiting. "Come on, Alex," Troy said, his tone less formal than before. "Belinda's already waiting for us."
Troy placed a firm hand on Alex's shoulder, gently steering him away from the guard.
They didn't speak as they made their way out of the building, the silence heavy between them. Alex followed Troy's lead, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway until they stepped outside into the cool night air. A car was parked out front, and Belinda was already inside, waiting.
Alex slid into the back seat without a word, feeling the odd weight of the situation settle over him. Troy took the driver's seat with casual familiarity, like this was any ordinary evening, like they were just another family heading out for a normal dinner.
But nothing about this felt normal.
The drive wasn't that long, the low hum of the radio filling the silence between them. Alex stared out the window, watching unfamiliar streets blur past. When they pulled up in front of a steakhouse—fancy from the looks of it—Troy turned off the engine and glanced back at Alex with a grin.
"Bryne's paying, so we can splurge a little," he said, winking, trying to lighten the mood.
But then his expression shifted, turning more serious. "Alex, inside we have to act like a family. The sooner we fall into the role, the better."
Alex nodded, already feeling the weight of the responsibility. "Yeah, I know."
"And you'll need to lose the accent," Troy added, his tone firm but not unkind.
"Sure should I start calling 'football' soccer too?"
Troy cracked a smile, shaking his head. "Hey, whatever helps you blend in, kid."
They stepped inside the steakhouse, the dim lighting and quiet atmosphere providing a surprising amount of privacy. A few tables were occupied, but it was far from crowded—perfect for the conversation they needed to have. A hostess greeted them, leading them to a secluded corner booth.
As the waiter left them with menus and a basket of warm bread, the atmosphere around the table shifted. Troy leaned in, his brow furrowed with concern, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear. "So, Alex… what's the deal with the guards?"
Alex looked up putting a piece of bread in his mouth, and met Troy's eyes. "What do you mean?" he replied casually, tearing off another piece of bread and popping it into his mouth, trying to mask his unease with nonchalance.
Troy wasn't buying it. "I mean," he said, leaning in further, "when you came out of Bryne's office, there was a guard practically glued to your side. Then, when I came to get you for dinner, you were locked in a room with another guard standing right in front of the door. That's not exactly normal."
Alex swallowed, the bread suddenly feeling heavier in his throat. He avoided their stares, his eyes flicking back to the menu as if the list of overpriced steaks was the most important thing in the world. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.
"They're just being cautious," Alex finally said, his voice a little too casual. "I'm not here exactly by choice. They just want to make sure I don't run off or… say no."
Belinda, who had been quietly watching the exchange, set her menu down, her eyes narrowing. "Wait—you're telling us they are forcing you? Why didn't you say something?" Her voice was quiet but laced with an edge of alarm.
Alex gave a half-shrug, his tone dry, almost dismissive. "What's the point? It's not like it changes anything. I'm still stuck doing this whether they keep me locked up or not." He ripped off another piece of bread but didn't eat it, instead fiddling with it as if the conversation wasn't making him feel like a trapped animal.
Troy's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he glanced at Belinda. The unease that had been lingering beneath the surface deepened. "They shouldn't be treating you like a prisoner," Troy muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "You're supposed to be part of the team, not… whatever this is."
Alex smirked bitterly, glancing up at Troy, the sarcasm creeping back into his tone. "Yeah, well, I guess they missed that memo." He said eating another bread
Belinda's gaze flicked between Alex and Troy, her brows knitted in concern. "Are they even treating you alright?" she asked, her voice more direct than Troy's, as if she couldn't hide her worry anymore.
Alex felt the weight of her question settle uncomfortably in his chest. He hadn't even noticed how ravenously he'd eaten until he glanced down at the empty bread basket, realizing that he was the only one who had touched it. His plate, scattered with crumbs, was the only one disturbed, and the sudden clarity of it hit him harder than he expected.
With a forced shrug, he leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, his voice laced with that familiar, bitter edge. He picked up his menu and flicked through it, trying to push away the growing discomfort. "Look, I don't really think we should talk about this. It doesn't change anything, so let's just move on."
Belinda opened her mouth as if to say something more, but the waiter appeared again, pen and pad in hand, ready to take their orders. The timing was impeccable, sparing Alex from any more probing questions.
Alex skimmed the menu and ordered one of the priciest dishes without hesitation. He didn't care if it was a bit indulgent—it wasn't like he was paying, and part of him wanted to see if anyone would say something. But, predictably, no one did. If anything, the silence that followed seemed even more loaded than before. It wasn't disapproval on their faces—it was pity, and Alex hated that.
Once the orders were in, they returned to safe, superficial small talk. Troy and Belinda asked about the usual things—school, hobbies, nothing that pried too deeply. Alex gave half-hearted answers, barely engaging, his mind still on the guards, the locked room, and everything waiting for him back in his temporary cell. He tried to appear interested, nodding occasionally, but his thoughts kept drifting, pulled back to the reality of his situation.
The food arrived, and for a few minutes, the conversation lulled as they ate. Alex had to admit that the steak was incredible—perfectly cooked and tender—but he found it hard to enjoy. Every bite was a reminder that he was here, being watched, being controlled. The mission loomed over him like a shadow, even as they pretended to be a normal trio out for dinner.
Troy, clearly trying to lighten the mood, made a few jokes, and Belinda chimed in with some anecdotes from their previous missions. They were trying to make him feel comfortable, to build some rapport before they all plunged into the unknown together. But it felt forced, like they were all playing parts in a script that none of them had agreed to.
They left the restaurant in silence, the earlier small talk and forced camaraderie dissipating as the reality of their situation settled back in. The car ride back was equally quiet, the only sound being the low hum of the radio.
Back at the CIA building, Troy walked Alex to his room once more, his eyes flicking warily to the guard posted outside the door. The air between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts, but Alex didn't care to break the silence. There was no point. Whatever Troy had to say wouldn't change anything.
Once inside, Alex shut the door softly behind him, his gaze falling on the mess of papers scattered across the bed and floor. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the mission and everything leading up to it pressing down on him. Bending down, he began picking them up one by one, barely registering the words printed on the pages. He stacked them into an uneven pile, his mind elsewhere.
Changing into his pajamas, he felt the fatigue wash over him again, but sleep wasn't an option. Not yet. He climbed onto the bed, flicking on the small bedside lamp, the soft yellow light casting a warm glow around the room. It was comforting, but not enough to ease the pressure building inside him. He stared at the folder again, knowing there was no way around it.
His eyes burned from the long day, and his mind screamed for rest, but he had too much left to memorize. The cover, the details, everything had to be perfect. He couldn't afford a single mistake, not with what was at stake, the last thing he wanted was to get killed for not knowing his 'mother' maiden name.
With a reluctant breath, Alex pulled the papers back onto his lap and started reading. Again. Each word felt like a brick being added to the wall of anxiety forming inside him, but he kept going, forcing himself to focus. There was no other choice now.
Alex had no sense of time as he poured over the documents, the words blurring together as the hours slipped by. His body grew heavy with exhaustion, and eventually, his eyelids began to droop on their own, each blink lasting a little longer. He fought it, forcing himself to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. Before he knew it, his head nodded forward, and sleep overtook him.
It felt like only a minute had passed before he was jolted awake by the creak of the door. Harsh light from the hallway spilled into the room as a shadowy figure stood at the entrance.
"Get up, kid. Bryne wants to see you," the guard barked, his voice cutting through the haze of Alex's half-conscious state. He closed the door with a thud, leaving Alex in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.
Groggy and disoriented, Alex rubbed his eyes, the fatigue still clinging to him. He rolled his neck, feeling the stiff ache from sleeping in an awkward, upright position. His body protested every movement, muscles sore and joints stiff, but he knew he had no choice but to obey.
With a resigned sigh, Alex swung his legs off the bed, the papers he had been studying now scattered across the mattress like discarded leaves in autumn. He glanced at them, the temptation to just shove them aside and bury himself under the covers tugging at him. But he couldn't—not anymore. That choice had been ripped away from him a long time ago.
He stood up, his muscles protesting every movement as he changed into fresh clothes, the exhaustion still clinging to his body like a weight he couldn't shake off. Once dressed, he knocked on the door, the guard outside opening it instantly, as if he had been standing there the whole time, waiting.
The silence between them felt heavy as they walked down the sterile hallways, the familiar, cold corridors of the CIA building.
Inside, Troy and Belinda were already seated, deep in conversation with Bryne, their expressions serious, voices low. The moment Alex stepped through the door, Bryne's gaze snapped to him.
"Alex, come in," Bryne's voice cut through the quiet tension of the room. Her tone was sharp, devoid of any warmth, as though yanking him from bed at the crack of dawn was nothing out of the ordinary. The moment Alex stepped inside, all eyes were on him—Troy and Belinda stopped mid-conversation, their gazes settling on him like spotlights. The air was thick, heavy with anticipation.
Alex moved toward the chair, the room feeling colder than before. As he sat down, Bryne's gaze didn't waver. "Did you memorize your cover?" she asked, her voice unyielding.
"Yeah, pretty much," Alex replied, fighting the urge to slump. His muscles were still stiff from being forced awake, and his brain felt foggy, like it was wading through syrup.
"Good," Bryne said, as if expecting nothing less. "Your flight leaves this afternoon. This will be the last time we speak before you go. You know the stakes—don't take unnecessary risks."
She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a sleek, metallic watch, its surface gleaming under the overhead light. The thing looked expensive, polished like a piece of high-tech jewelry. She handed it to him. "This is for you. It monitors your vitals and sends them directly to us. There's also an emergency button on the side. Press it only if it's extremely necessary and it will send us your location."
Alex turned the watch over in his hands, his fingers tracing the cold surface. The idea of having his vitals constantly tracked made his skin crawl. It felt less like a tool and more like a leash. He shot her a skeptical look. "Is that it?" he asked
Bryne didn't even flinch. "Yes, Alex. You're there as cover, not as a field agent. If we give you anything more, it would attract suspicion. Besides, we both know you're resourceful when needed."
Alex clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. He clasped the watch around his wrist, the metal cool against his skin. Resourceful when needed, he thought bitterly. They never gave him anything that could actually help. He knew deep down that when it really mattered, this watch wouldn't be worth a damn. "Right," he muttered under his breath, still feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on him.
"There's one more thing," Bryne said, interrupting his thoughts. She pulled out a phone from the drawer and slid it across the desk. "A teenager without a phone would draw suspicion."
Alex picked it up, his eyebrows knitting together. It wasn't his phone. He could tell just by the feel of it "Where's mine?" he asked, looking up at her, suspicion creeping into his voice.
"In the same place you left it. Your dorm," she replied without missing a beat, her expression unreadable.
Alex's stomach tightened. They had been in his dorm, rummaging through his things, invading what little personal space he had left. The fact that they hadn't bothered to bring his real phone was almost insulting, like they were toying with him. "Hard to believe you took everything but left that behind," he said dryly, trying to mask his discomfort.
Bryne's eyes didn't waver. "I would refrain from using it to contact anyone. One wrong message, and you could blow the whole operation."
Her words hung in the air like a warning, and Alex knew she meant them. The phone in his hand felt heavy, not because of its weight, but because of what it symbolized—another shackle in the life he didn't ask for. He slipped it into his pocket, the cold realization settling in.
Bryne's voice sliced through his thoughts, cold and final. "This is your last chance to back out, Alex. Once you get on that plane, there's no turning back."
Alex met her gaze, resisting the urge to scoff. Her attempt at giving him an out, now of all times, felt laughable. "Don't try to play nice now," he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. Bryne smiled at him, but it wasn't the kind of smile that held warmth. It was sharp, almost sinister, like a knife held at his throat.
She rose from her chair, her movements smooth and calculated. "I wish you three the best of luck," she said, addressing Troy and Belinda. They nodded, excitement simmering just below the surface. Alex could tell they were eager to dive into what was likely the most significant mission of their careers.
But when she turned back to him, her expression shifted ever so slightly. "No unnecessary risks, Alex. Let Troy and Belinda handle the action." For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something—worry, maybe—cross her face. It was almost as if, somewhere deep down, she didn't want his death on her conscience. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if he didn't make it back. But whatever that flicker was, it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual ironclad resolve.
"We prepared a suitcase for you," she said, gesturing toward a blue suitcase sitting in the corner of her office. Alex frowned in confusion. He'd just left his room, and all his clothes had already been packed.
Bryne caught his look and explained, "We couldn't risk you using your own clothes with UK brands that don't exist here. The details matter."
Alex stared at the suitcase, a wave of irritation rising in his chest. They had thought of everything—except the part where they let him decide whether or not he wanted to be part of this insane mission in the first place. With a roll of his eyes, he quipped, "Wow, a wardrobe change. Guess that's what'll really save the day."
Bryne didn't respond to Alex's comment, simply offering a nod to Troy and Belinda, signaling that it was time to move. Alex grabbed the handle of his new suitcase, its unfamiliar weight dragging behind him as they made their way downstairs. The lobby felt sterile under the bright lights, every step echoing off the polished floors. Outside, a yellow taxi waited. It was a fake, of course, a detail that might fool anyone but Alex—he'd long since learned to notice the small things that gave operations away.
As they approached, Alex couldn't help but notice that only his bag wasn't in the trunk—he mentally corrected himself, the boot. He'd need to lose those British terms quickly if he wanted to pull this off. With a sigh, he slid into the backseat, the faux leather stiff beneath him. Troy took the front, Belinda next to him, settling in like they were a normal family on their way to a holiday, not agents heading into the heart of a dangerous mission.
The driver, wordless and anonymous, pulled away from the curb. The streets outside blurred into a stream of headlights and neon signs, but inside, the silence was thick. Alex stared out the window, feeling the weight of what was coming pressing down on him, like the walls of the car were slowly closing in.
"Alex," Troy's voice broke through the silence, low and serious. He didn't turn to look at him, but Alex could feel the weight of his words in the rearview mirror. "The moment we step out of this car, we're a family. No slip-ups. Once we're out, it's the real deal."
Alex nodded, swallowing hard. "Got it," he muttered, the sarcasm that usually followed in moments like these swallowed by the growing knot in his throat.
The car slowed as they approached the airport. The building loomed ahead, brightly lit and bustling, the last place that still felt like reality. Once they stepped inside, everything would change. The driver pulled up to the curb, and Alex could see passengers milling about, dragging suitcases, saying goodbye to loved ones, none of them aware of what was about to unfold behind the mask of a family just heading on vacation.
Alex smirked at Troy's remark as he took the passport, flipping it open. His own face stared back at him, familiar yet altered under the new name—Alex Gardiner. The change was small, just a name.
"Don't worry, Dad," he replied with a sarcastic edge, "I'm not five."
Troy raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint smirk behind his serious expression. They were already slipping into their roles, rehearsing the performance that would soon become their reality.
Belinda, eager to get moving, turned on her heel, her voice cutting through the moment. "Let's go. I want to beat the lines."
Without waiting, she strode toward the sliding glass doors of the terminal, leaving Alex and Troy to follow. The suitcase bumped against his leg as Alex trailed behind, watching real families move in and out of the airport. Kids bouncing excitedly on their heels, parents dragging suitcases filled with vacation dreams. For a moment, the absurdity of his situation hit him—pretending to be a happy teenager with his "parents," while preparing to infiltrate a dangerous operation.
The airport doors whooshed open, and the artificial lighting inside bathed them in a sterile glow. The smell of coffee and jet fuel mingled with the murmur of voices and the beep of intercom announcements. The Gardiners were just another family among the crowd now.
Alex glanced down at the passport in his hand one last time. "Gardiner," he muttered under his breath. Then, with a deep breath, he followed Belinda and Troy into the building, ready to play his part.
The airport buzzed with the early morning energy, a sea of travelers flowing through security checkpoints and immigration lines. Alex and his fake "family" moved through it all seamlessly, their new identities passing inspection without a hitch. No raised eyebrows, no second glances—just another family on their way to some tropical getaway.
Once through, they found themselves in the sprawling terminal, surrounded by overpriced coffee shops, souvenir stores, and travelers dragging their luggage from gate to gate. Alex's stomach gave a low rumble, reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was the steak dinner from last night.
Belinda, ever the doting mother in this strange charade, turned to him. "Sweetie, did you have breakfast before you left the house?"
Alex shrugged. "Not really."
"Of course you didn't," Troy muttered under his breath. To any passing stranger, the comment might have sounded like frustration directed at Alex for skipping breakfast. But Alex knew better. Troy wasn't annoyed with him—his words were directed at someone else.
Belinda's voice was light, but she didn't miss a beat. "I'll get you something. I wanted to grab a magazine for myself anyway. You two wait at the gate."
Before Alex could respond, she was already walking off, disappearing into the crowd. He was left standing with Troy, who seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. They made their way to the gate in silence, where a few scattered families were already waiting for the same flight. Alex dropped into one of the plastic chairs, his suitcase parked beside him, and stared out at the planes taxiing on the runway.
"You ready for this?" Troy asked, his voice low but steady.
Alex glanced at him, feeling the weight of the question. Was he ready? He didn't have a choice. The whole operation was riding on his ability to blend in, to pretend this was just another vacation. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his tone flat.
Troy nodded, looking satisfied enough with the answer. They sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes, both of them watching the steady stream of people pass by. Alex couldn't help but wonder what they would think if they knew the truth—that he wasn't just some kid going on holiday, but an undercover agent, forced into this life by people like Bryne.
Eventually, Belinda returned, balancing a bag of food and a magazine tucked under her arm. She handed Alex a sandwich and a bottle of orange juice, sitting down with a sigh. "Eat up, Alex. Long flight ahead."
Alex took the sandwich, though he wasn't sure if his stomach could handle it. The anticipation of what was to come made it hard to focus on something as mundane as food. But he ate anyway, forcing himself to chew while Troy flipped through his phone and Belinda skimmed her magazine.
Time moved slowly, the minutes dragging on as they waited for their flight to be called. Alex felt like the air around him was thickening, the reality of what he was about to do settling deeper into his bones. In just a few hours, they'd be landing in Cuba, and everything would change.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boarding announcement crackled over the loudspeaker. Belinda shot Troy a look, and he gave a slight nod. They stood up, collecting their things, and made their way to the gate. The line moved quickly, and soon they were handing over their boarding passes, stepping onto the jet bridge.
As Alex walked down the narrow tunnel toward the plane, the hum of the engines growing louder, he tried to block out the unease curling in his stomach. He was stepping into enemy territory, with only his wits and his thin cover to protect him. But there was no turning back now. Not with Kyra's life hanging in the balance.
They found their seats, Belinda sliding in beside him while Troy took the aisle. The plane began to fill up, the passengers settling in for the long flight. Alex stared out of the window as the city faded in the distance, replaced by the open sky.
Alex stared blankly at the small screen in front of him, its glossy surface offering a lineup of movies he had no interest in. Comedies, action flicks, animated films—all of it felt too far removed from the reality he was about to face. His finger hovered over the controls for a moment, then dropped back to his lap. What was the point? He wasn't going to find any comfort or distraction in a two-hour film, not when his mind was racing with everything ahead.
He glanced sideways at Troy and Belinda their heads close together as they spoke in low voices. From the occasional glances they shot him, Alex figured they were discussing the mission, perhaps strategizing or making sure everything was in order. They were professionals—this was their world, after all. For him, it was just another mess he'd been dragged into.
The hum of the plane's engines droned steadily, and Alex shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. He reclined his chair slightly, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Maybe if he slept, he could at least escape the gnawing tension for a while. His body was still exhausted from the last few days, from the sleepless nights spent pouring over cover details and dealing with Bryne's rigid authority.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax. The low murmur of passengers, the soft clink of drink carts being wheeled through the aisles, the faint whirr of the ventilation system—it all became a dull backdrop as he tried to tune it out. His mind was restless, replaying the briefings and imagining all the ways things could go wrong, but eventually, exhaustion won out. He drifted off.
A jolt woke him. His eyes blinked open, disoriented for a moment. The cabin lights were dimmed, and outside the window, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and purple. They were nearing Cuba. The steady drone of the engines was still there, but there was a shift in the atmosphere, a quiet hum of anticipation as passengers around him began to stir, sensing that the flight was nearing its end.
Alex rubbed his eyes, the drowsiness fading as reality crashed back in. He glanced at Troy, who was now flipping through a magazine, his expression unreadable. Belinda sat with her arms crossed, gazing out of the window. Neither of them seemed nervous, but Alex could sense the change in their posture—more alert now, more ready. The mission was starting.
An announcement came over the intercom, crackling as the pilot's voice informed them of their descent into José Martí International Airport in Havana. "We'll be landing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for arrival."
Alex felt a knot tighten in his stomach. This was it. No more rehearsing, no more preparation. They were about to step into enemy territory, and from the moment they set foot in Cuba, they'd have to be perfect. One slip-up, and it could all come crashing down.
He fastened his seatbelt, his fingers cold and slightly shaky as he clicked it into place. Troy turned slightly in his seat, giving Alex a brief, almost reassuring nod. "Stay sharp," he muttered, his tone low enough to be drowned out by the sound of the plane lowering its landing gear. "We're almost there."
Alex just nodded back. His heart was starting to race, the adrenaline kicking in now that they were so close. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to steady himself.
The plane touched down with a soft thud, the wheels squealing against the tarmac. Around him, passengers began to unbuckle their seatbelts, standing and reaching for overhead compartments. Troy and Belinda waited calmly, blending in with the casual energy of tourists eager to disembark, but Alex could see the careful calculation behind their movements.
As they exited the plane, the warm, humid air of Havana hit Alex like a wave, sticking to his skin immediately. The sun had fully set by now, and the airport was bathed in the golden glow of artificial lights. They moved through the terminal with ease, passing immigration without a hitch. Their new identities were holding up.
Alex had expected more—some kind of scrutiny, a closer inspection that might at least test his nerves—but instead, it was all smooth sailing. Too smooth, almost. For a mission that had required so much preparation and stress, the ease of their arrival felt underwhelming. He felt out of place, almost irrelevant, like his presence was unnecessary. This was supposed to be dangerous, but it didn't feel like it.
As they collected their bags and made their way to the exit, Alex kept waiting for something to happen—someone to pull them aside or ask a pointed question—but it never came. The people around them were more focused on their own lives, excited for vacations or simply returning home.
Troy and Belinda, on the other hand, moved with practiced confidence, blending into the flow of travelers without a hitch.
The car waiting for them outside seemed just as indifferent as the airport. Alex slid into the back seat, his suitcase forgotten beside him as he stared out at the glowing Havana skyline in the distance. He couldn't shake the feeling of how unnecessary he seemed in all of this- What am I even doing here?
COMMENTS RESPONSE:
maria260686: i love it that you allways leave a comment, you should know that you're my nº1 commenter :) Anyways this one is a bit slow but next chapter the action will begin, thank you for reading!